


Higanbana

by Den_Den_Mushi



Category: One Piece
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29781252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Den_Den_Mushi/pseuds/Den_Den_Mushi
Summary: Empress and swordsmaster, captain and ruler. The twin crowns weighed heavy on the girl's delicate brow.From the stagnant waters of the Calm Belt to the turbulent tides of the New World, she would forge her own path.
Relationships: Akagami no Shanks | Red-Haired Shanks/Makino, Boa Hancock/Dracule Mihawk, Kozuki Hiyori/Roronoa Zoro
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

The bartop counter was pristine; so clean Ayaka could clearly see her reflection in the polished mahogany surface. Yet that didn’t stop her absentmindedly rubbing at the counter with her rag, letting out an idle sigh as she surveyed the empty restaurant around her. From outside, she could hear the bustle of merchants, the rumble of ox-drawn carts drifting in through the window with watery rays of afternoon light. Ayaka’s reverie was interrupted then by the soft tinkle of chimes as the door swung open. Eagerly, the girl bounced to her feet, her face sporting a well-practised smile. “Welcome! How may I help you?”

Her visitor hesitated slightly, and so did she. Standing in the doorway, a little uncertain, a little apprehensive, was a young woman around Ayaka’s age, but the similarities stopped there. Pale, lithe and willowy, silky dark hair cascaded down the girl’s back, long bangs framing large crimson eyes with ring-patterned irises. She was clad in a short black battle kimono resembling kunoichi attire, with scarlet spider lilies adorning the long sleeves and the sash around her waist. A pair of katana hung at the sash; one jet black and flecked with veins of red, the other with a hawk’s wings spanning the crossguard. The girl’s crimson eyes flicked upwards to meet Ayaka’s, and Ayaka was momentarily struck by the intensity of her gaze as the girl spoke.

“Is this place open? I would like to eat here.”

“Of course, of course!” Ayaka regained her composure and ushered the girl to a seat, sliding a worn menu in front of her. As the stranger perused the menu, Ayaka broke the silence by asking:

“Are you new to these parts? I haven’t seen anyone like you in Wano before.”

The girl looked up, startled, before replying.

“No, you’re right. It’s…been a while since I was last here.”

“And how are you finding it?” Ayaka probed. In the back of her mind, she wondered vaguely if she was annoying her guest but she brushed the feeling aside. She’d gone all day without a single customer visiting her parents’ restaurant, and she would be damned if she didn’t take the opportunity to speak to someone her own age for once.

If the customer was annoyed however, she didn’t show it. “It is…” she began, and then bit her lip as though contemplating her next words. “Different. More vibrant than I remembered.”

Ayaka’s cheery expression faltered momentarily. Most visitors to Wano had said the same, the cruel reign of Shogun Orochi still fresh in the outside world’s mind. Though nearly two decades has passed since, the land had still yet to fully heal. Ayaka shook her head vigorously and swiftly changed the topic, eager to avoid the subject of her parent’s nightmares.

“So what brings you to Wano? It sure is a long way from Sabaody and the Blue Seas.”

The question brought a small smile to the girl’s face, her small ruby lips quirking upward gracefully.

“I’m here to visit my brother.”

She chose not to elaborate, but Ayaka saw a subdued fondness in the stranger’s lovely face. A bond built upon years of familiarity and shared memories, and Ayaka’s heart clenched. How she’d longed for siblings of her own, someone with whom she could pass the long afternoons when the stream of customers dwindled to a trickle and the dining hall seemed cavernous, full of silent space. Yet Ayaka’s curiosity was piqued and she asked:

“Your brother, huh? What does he do here? There aren’t many foreigners who choose to settle down permanently in Wano.”

“He’s…” the girl’s brow furrowed; she seemed unsure of how to formulate a succinct response. “He’s a samurai,” she said at last, but it was clear to Ayaka that there was more to the story than she let on.

“Wait…” the young proprietor muttered. “If he’s a samurai, doesn’t that mean your brother was born here? All samurai have to be members of a warrior family after all.”

Ayaka’s question had clearly hit the nail on the head. The crimson-eyed girl stayed silent and several moments ticked by before she spoke again. “We have the same father,” she said, and that was all she would offer about the matter. Once again detecting that a change of subject was in order, Ayaka made a graceful pivot.

“Your father is brave to let you wander around by yourself. Mine would never let me.” she forced out a self-deprecating chuckle, but her gaze shifted to the katana resting at her guest’s waist. Twenty years on and female samurai were still a rarity, most women deterred by malingering sexism and the unavailability of instructors willing to accept pupils they assumed would abandon swordplay in favour of domestic responsibilities later on. Oh, how Ayaka had wished she could be one of them, her childhood dreams filled with fantasies of slaying monsters in the wastelands or patrolling the majestic palace at the centre of the Flower Capital. How she longed to catch a glimpse of the fabled Second Ryuuma, legendary samurai and mentor to the Shogun Kozuki Momonosuke. The man who, like his predecessor, had slain a dragon over the skies of Wano, a symbol of hope and a new era. Caught up in reminiscence, Ayaka nearly missed the customer’s reply.

“Not really,” she said, in a matter-of-fact way. “Where I’m from, women travel freely. We fight freely. That is our way.”

“Sounds like a paradise.” Ayaka sighed.

“I wouldn't say that.”

“Why not?”

The dark haired girl hesitated again, as she so often did, and her eyes narrowed in quiet contemplation. “Fighting doesn’t always equate to freedom. One is never truly free if one lives and fights in ignorance. Among my people, there are many who, like frogs in a well, believe themselves to be strong when there exists an entire world into which they refuse to venture.”

“I-I see…” Ayaka struggled wrapping her head around the stranger’s words. Fighting and freedom? Frogs in a well? These were concepts that eluded her, so sheltered was she who known only Wano’s land and Wano’s culture. As most residents of Wano, her parents had warned her repeatedly about the dangers of the Outside, of terrifying Sea Kings and marauding, deceitful pirates. Yet the arrival of this girl had awakened some long-dormant curiosity within her, a sudden urge to see this island of fighting women that lay somewhere far beyond Wano’s shores.

Stroking her delicate chin with one hand, the girl tapped the menu with a long pale finger. “I’ll have the O-shiruko” she said, interrupting Ayaka’s racing thoughts. “We don’t have that where I’m from.”

“Y-yes, right away!” Ayaka leapt to her feet and hurried away to the kitchen, but not before stealing a glance at the girl’s hand and fingers. In contrast to her slender frame and smooth porcelain complexion, the girl’s fingers were calloused and her palm was scarred, as though from clenching the hilt of a katana until it drew blood. The girl’s bangs parted to reveal a thin, faded scar across her right eye, the small imperfection stark against an otherwise flawless canvas. It seemed that freedom had its price.

When she’d finished eating, the stranger rose gracefully from her seat and made to leave. Part of Ayaka wanted to call out to her, to ask her to talk, to share a stroll, anything to distract her from her usual solitude, but the words caught in her throat. Her guest turned back to her with a gentle smile, the curtain of her hair and the golden late-afternoon light haloing those lovely features.

“Thank you for the conversation. And thank you for the meal.” She said.

And then she was gone.

* * *

Later that night, Ayaka found herself unable to sleep, her thoughts occupied by the mysterious visitor. They’d shared barely an hour of company and conversation, yet with every line, she found herself wanting to know more. About her. About the world she came from. A world away from the tedium of dishes and drinks, her world stagnant and unchanging. What lay beyond Wano’s borders? She found herself pondering. And what did the stranger mean when she said it was possible to be free, yet imprisoned like a frog in a well?

A quiet thud from downstairs had Ayaka sitting straight up in bed with a jolt, her heart suddenly racing. Burglaries were not uncommon in the Flower Capital, but as she slunk down the stairs, she felt her hands trembling, her palms sweaty as she peered around the corner towards the dining hall and the register near the door.

The dining hall was pitch black, illuminated by a single candle in a sconce on the adjacent wall. Stools and tables cast long, ominous shadows across the floor as Ayaka padded towards the register. All she needed to do was check that nothing had been taken and then she could retreat to the safety of her room. “It’s alright… it’s alright…” Ayaka reassured herself in a whispered mantra as she approached her destination. Yet only a split second after she’d unlocked the register, she felt a pair of rough hands close around her mouth, her small frame tugged against a burglar’s coarse, dirty tunic and a rusty knife pressed to her throat.

“Don’t move.” He rasped and Ayaka caught the stale whiff of cheap beer and cigarettes. Two of his companions emerged from the shadows and began ransacking the till.

“Hey boss,” one wheezed. “There ain’t too much in here. How ‘bou we take the girl too as compensation?”

“Hmm…” the one holding her thought to himself. “This one ain’t too busty but she’s thin, and she’s pretty enough. She might sell for a couple mil’ in the red-light district.” The robbers chortled to themselves and the leader yanked Ayaka towards the door, ignoring the frightened tears welling up in her eyes. He had yet to place a hand on the knob, however, and the door swung open to the gentle sound of chimes, a low whistle following in its wake from a sudden gust outside. The stranger from that afternoon stood in the doorway once more, her paleness ethereal in the moonlight.

“Boss, just our luck!” grinned one of the burglars. “We found another one!” gleefully, he stepped towards the girl, both hands greedily outstretched. Out of the corner of her eye, Ayaka thought she saw the girl reach for her katana, a sudden flash of silver, and the burglar dropped to his knees screaming in pain. A soft thump caught her attention then, and Ayaka realised it was the sound of his severed hand hitting the ground, streaking the dining hall floor with fresh blood. The girl moved then, elegantly, swift as quicksilver and the second bandit collapsed, his midsection shredded by the black veined katana. The leader took a step back, his arm trembling even as he held Ayaka captive at knifepoint.

“S-stay back!” he called out. “Stay back or I’ll kill her!”

The girl seemed completely unperturbed by his threat and cocked her head in amusement. Ignoring the burglar completely, she turned to Ayaka and met her eyes with a piercing stare.

_Do you trust me?_ She didn’t have to say anything, but Ayaka understood. And she nodded. The girl raised both katanas, and in one fluid motion drew them in a diagonal cross-slash. A moment of silence, a sharp gust whistled through Ayaka’s hair, and the man holding her collapsed, blood spurting from the stumps where both his arms used to be. In the midst of the blood and carnage around her, the stranger seemed completely unruffled, delicately stepping around the pools of blood towards Ayaka.

“Are you hurt?” she inquired, and Ayaka felt her fear melt away. She shook her head and the girl smiled sadly.

“I’m sorry about the mess. I’ll be taking my leave now,” she said, and turned away to leave once more. This time though, Ayaka didn’t hesitate as she blurted out:

“Wait!”

The girl paused and met her gaze quizzically, genuine surprised reflected in those deep crimson orbs.

“How about a midnight snack? You must be hungry after all that fighting.”

Her saviour blinked, and then she chuckled softly. “Thank you. I appreciate the offer, but I really should return. My brother will worry if I’m not back soon.”

“Oh…” Ayaka’s face fell and she felt herself blushing with embarrassment even as the girl spoke again.

“But… if your restaurant is still open tomorrow, I’m happy to come by again.”

Ayaka looked up then and saw that the girl’s eyes had softened, the usual intensity of her gaze replaced by a silent offer of companionship. Ayaka knew then what she wanted, and she bravely ventured to meet her halfway.

“We’re not open on weekends but there’s a kimono shop I wanted to visit. We can get you some new clothes too now that your old ones are bloody.”

The two girls stood there under the moon’s silvery half-light, both different, and yet somehow not. The promise of a bond transcending place and culture spanning the space between them. For the first time in forever, Dracule Iris found herself drawn in by the promise of new friendship forged in a land where she’d expected to find only adversaries.

“I’d love that.”


	2. High Hopes

Girlish laughter drifted down the castle’s stone hallways, the sound guiding Zoro through twisting corridors to the warm, dim light of a child’s room. Perona turned to look at him as she perched at the end of the bed and grinned.

“Oh, would you look who it is. It’s the big, stupid Marimo. He finally found us!”

Zoro glared at her, even as she and the child behind her erupted in a fit of giggling. Perona rose to her feet, planting a brief kiss on the child’s forehead as she did.

“Well that’s my cue to leave,” she cast a wink over her shoulder as she headed out. “Don’t get lost on your way out now Mr Babysitter.”

Zoro ignored Perona’s teasing and took her spot at the foot of Iris’s bed where she sat eagerly waiting for him. The child was bigger than he’d last seen her, dressed in a frilly pink nightdress and surrounded by stuffed toys. Zoro rearranged the toys in a neat row, patting the empty space next to him as she scooted over.

“Zoro-nii!” Iris giggled and hugged him. Zoro felt the warmth of her small body pressed against his and smiled, tousling her silky dark hair playfully.

“Tell me a story!” she chirped then, and Zoro smirked. He was a man of few words, but Iris had a gift for drawing them out of him, the swordsman spinning colourful tales of his adventures at sea.

“Another story? Hmm… I can tell you one about how Usopp got his head stuck in a giant pitcher plant the other day. You shoulda seen the look on Chopper’s face when that happened!” Zoro guffawed loudly at the memory, but Iris did not look amused.

“That’s boring,” she pouted, folding her arms across her chest. “Tell me a story with fighting. And swords. You know I like swords.”

“Uh…” Zoro scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “To be honest, I don’t have any stories about fighting for you this time. Most other pirates tend to run in the opposite direction real fast when they see our Jolly Roger.”

“Then tell me that story again. The story about your two thousandth duel with Kuina-nee!” Iris bounced up and down on the blanket, eyes sparkling with excitement.

“That story again, huh? I bet you can’t wait ‘til you start your own training.”

At the mention of training, the girl puffed her chest with pride. “Father says I can start training in a few weeks when I turn six. He got me a real practice sword and everything!”

“Well aren’t you a big girl now.” Zoro poked her lightly between the eyes. “Let me guess, you went looking for the sword so you could get a few swings in before you start training.”

“Yeah I did actually.” Iris slumped her shoulders in disappointment. “But I couldn’t find it. Father must have hidden it somewhere in the castle.”

“Well ain’t that a shame.” Zoro grinned mockingly. “Now I ain’t got any swords for you, but I can tell you the story of Kuina again.” Iris climbed into his lap and sat straight up, both her little hands placed in her lap to demonstrate that he had her full attention.

“Long ago, in Shimotsuki Village in the East Blue, there lived a family of Wano swordsmen…”

* * *

Zoro tucked Iris into bed when the story was done, her eyelids heavy with sleep.

“I don’t wanna go to bed,” she protested weakly. “Tell me another story Zoro-nii.”

“I’ll tell ya one tomorrow, if you’re good.” Zoro promised and she smiled sleepily.

“Mmmk.” She yawned. “I drew…some pink flowers on the walls so you won’t get lost. Follow the flowers, mmkay?”

“Thanks.” Zoro blew out the candle on the wall, plunging the room into darkness. “Goodnight Iris.”

Just as she’d promised, Zoro found a line of flowers crudely drawn in pink chalk along the walls, along with childish instructions reading ‘Zoro-nii, this way!’ and ‘Don’t get lost!’. He found himself in the cavernous living room, still lit by candles and the silvery glow of the moon outside. The space was more welcoming than he remembered, the cold stone floors now blanketed with soft burgundy carpet and deep red drapes adorning the windows. A crackling fireplace emitted heat and light, illuminating the plush red armchair where his former master sat with a glass of wine at his elbow.

Mihawk’s eyes flicked upwards from a musty tome to meet Zoro’s as he entered, and he did not drop his gaze until Zoro had crossed the room to stand by his side.

“I take it Iris is asleep.” he said by way of greeting.

“Yeah.” Zoro plopped down in a chair beside his and reclined lazily. “She’s a good kid,” he observed, “Said you were gonna start her training soon.”

“Indeed.” Mihawk replied, and the corners of his severe mouth quirked slightly upwards. “Did she tell you about her search for the training sword? It’s in the broom closet, which she would have discovered were she not too lazy to perform her chores. Quite like you, Roronoa.”

Zoro scowled. “You tricked me,” he accused. “You said mopping the entire castle was, and I quote, a ‘full body workout’.”

Mihawk only raised an eyebrow in response. “Wasn’t it? As I recall this simple chore took you three entire days to complete, upon which you collapsed from exhaustion and lack of sleep.”

“Shut up.” Zoro grunted, hoping that the firelight hid the redness in his cheeks. “It’s not my fault all the rooms in this damn place look the same.”

“And yet Iris, who is only five, seems to navigate them just fine.”

Zoro flushed even deeper and gritted his teeth. Despite having bested him in swordplay years ago, Zoro had never once claimed victory against his master in a battle of words. Strike, parry, jab. Mihawk’s sharp tongue could be even more damaging to his ego than the legendary Yoru itself.

“Isn’t five a bit young to start training?” Zoro swiftly changed the subject. “Far as I know, she’s still a normal little girl who likes dolls and whatnot.”

Mihawk snorted. “You don’t have to tell me. I’ve hosted enough unicorn tea parties to last a lifetime, with no sign of her losing interest anytime soon. But to answer your question, no. Training from a young age should help iron out most of her bad habits, and besides, with her penchant for weapons and sharp things, she’ll be experimenting with kitchen knives and gardening equipment soon enough.”

“Man, they grow up so fast.” Zoro grabbed the flask at his hip and took a deep swig. “Toko’s about to become a maiko, now Iris is gonna start training. Feels like only yesterday that she was born and now she’s about to become a swordsman. Just like her…”

Zoro trailed off mid-sentence, lost in his reminiscence, while Mihawk took a sip of his wine. The silence between them was weighty, but not awkward, filled with a gentle familiarity cultivated through years of companionship and respect forged in battle.

Zoro vividly remembered the day Iris was born. He remembered the den den mushi call out of the blue, the urgency in his master’s summons, even as his tone remained level. He remembered striding through the castle ahead of his crewmates, his master leading himself and Chopper towards a chamber from which a flustered Perona emerged. He remembered Perona swiftly ushering Chopper into the room, leaving Zoro outside with the older man. Mihawk had staunchly refused to answer Zoro’s questions, the severe lines of his face starker than he remembered and his piercing gaze trained uncharacteristically on the ground. Hours ticked by as the tension mounted, then was dispelled when Perona burst through the chamber doors, tears streaming down her face and a tiny bundle cradled tenderly in her arms. Zoro remembered gaping as Mihawk swept the bundle from Perona’s arms and gazed at it fondly, the cold slate of his face giving way to a warmth and gentleness Zoro had never before seen.

Ignoring Zoro’s confused sputtering and Perona’s joyous sobs, Mihawk whisked the newborn away, striding through the doors Perona had exited only moments before. Zoro remembered Perona falling into his arms, blubbering inelegantly. He remembered her repeating a single phrase over and over like a mantra.

“Zoro… that’s our sister.”

* * *

Zoro recalled the Straw Hats reacting with a combination of surprise and delight when they heard the news. Nami and Carrot begged to hold the baby while Robin and Jinbe chuckled quietly to themselves and Franky, Usopp and Brook hugged each other bawling tears of joy. Luffy said little, flashing his trademark broad grin even as he learned the identity of the child’s mother.

“So Hammock is a mom now, huh? Good for her.”

Hancock had been understandably wary of the strangers gathered in Kuraigana castle but had handed her offspring to Luffy without protest.

“Hmm,” Zoro remembered hearing Luffy say. “She doesn’t look anything like you Hammock. And why’s she all wrinkly?”

“Idiot!” Nami slapped Luffy over the head, almost causing him to drop the baby. “All newborns look like that!”

“Oww!” Luffy yelped. “But Nami, you said babies were cute and she’s not! She looks like a pickled plum.”

Zoro quickly scooped the infant out of Luffy’s hold before Nami could swat him again. Peering down at her face, Zoro silently mused that Luffy had been quite right. A tuft of damp black hair sat atop a round, wrinkled face. Her eyes were screwed tightly shut and Zoro wondered whose they would take after. When he gently prodded her cheek with his finger, the child wriggled in his arms, both of her tiny hands reaching to grasp the offending digit. Hancock watched their interaction from a short distance away, the anxiety on her face melting away to be replaced by the ghost of a reluctant smile. Almost imperceptibly, Zoro saw his master’s arm curl around her waist, stroking her lightly as a gesture of reassurance. Silently, he marvelled at this strange turn of events, the fierce pride that shone in his master’s eyes as he watched over the babe. Zoro recognised it for what it was; the pride of a master swordsman nurturing the blade of the next generation. 

The world would have high hopes for the child, Zoro realised. He thought back to Kuina, a girl descended from a long line of swordsmasters, but whose lineage brought her only insecurity and self-doubt. He thought back to all the burdens she’d shouldered alone, with no friends, no siblings or classmates in whom she could confide. He refused to let the same happen to Iris.

“Hey you.” he told the child dozing in his arms. “It’s rough being a lady swordsman, but you’ve got your mom and dad. They’ll make sure you grow up right.”

He cast a glance over to where the Straw Hats were celebrating the birth, their faces lit and roaring with laughter over a sumptuous feast. “You’ll have them too, for what it’s worth,” Zoro added wryly. Rising from his seat, he made his way over to his crew, a small smile creeping onto his face as they cooed and waved at the baby.

“Between all of us, I’ll think you’ll be ok kid.”

* * *

Years passed, and Zoro made sure that his presence in Iris’s life was a constant. He visited her, both on Kuraigana Island and Amazon Lily, the Straw Hats and Perona both her surrogate family and gateway to the outside world. Once a toddler with large ruby eyes set in a pale, chubby face, she’d grown into a lanky preteen, gazing up at him with a child’s stubborn defiance and reminding him all too much of another female swordsman he’d known.

“Zoro-nii.” She said to him one day, a serious expression fixed firmly on her heart shaped face.

“What is it, kid?”

“I need to borrow some of your weights.”

“Huh?” Zoro looked up from his tankard of ale. “What for?”

Iris thrust both her arms in front of him and scowled, her pretty features twisting with annoyance. “This.” She said. “I don’t have enough muscle. I know the technique to throw a flying slash, but I’m just not strong enough to do it.”

“Mah.” Zoro shrugged. “You’re too hard on yourself, kid. I didn’t throw a flying slash ‘til I was an adult. You’ve got plenty of time to learn.”

“No I don’t.” she protested. “Father won’t let me travel alone until I can do at least that. If I am to fight stronger foes and prove myself, I must visit other dojos in the Grand Line. That’s why I need your help, Zoro-nii.”

Zoro sighed. “You’re only twelve.” He reasoned. “Don’t be in such a hurry to run off just yet.”

Iris looked downcast, her usual self-assurance dissipating like a summer rain. “It’s just…” she hesitated. “I want to go out to sea with you guys and Perona-nee.” She explained. “The other girls on Amazon Lily are…different. They don’t understand a lot of things.”

“I guess that’s true.” Zoro recalled Luffy’s descriptions of the Amazons and his own experiences with them. How the powerful warrior women reacted, doe-eyed and surprised, towards new technologies and ideas from the outside. Little wonder then, that Iris, who was rapidly inheriting her father’s worldliness and stoicism, found it difficult to relate to them.

“Father says that there’s a land of swordsmen out there and that’s where you made a name for yourself,” Iris said then, bringing Zoro’s attention back to the situation at hand. “I would like to go there too someday.”

“Lemme guess,” Zoro said jokingly, “He gave you some spiel about not being a frog in a well and told you to go see the world?”

“Uh-huh,” Iris nodded vigorously and Zoro smirked, reaching down to tousle her hair as he always did.

“Seems like our old man has been planting some dangerous ideas in your head,” he teased, finally eliciting a smile from the girl. “But there’s no need to rush. Adventuring itself isn’t the best part, nor is it the fighting, even though you and I both enjoy that. Adventure is only fun if you’ve got good nakama to share the journey with.” Zoro finished, and promptly turned deep red at having said something so profound.

“Nakama…” Iris seemed lost in contemplation for a moment, then asked. “Do you think I’ll find nakama like yours someday, Zoro-nii?”

Zoro looked up and out towards the horizon, savouring the salty wind and the cries of seabirds overhead. The sun was low in the sky, bathing the fields of Kuraigana island and scores of farming Humandrills in a welcoming golden glow. Iris watched the sunset beside him, a young flower blossoming out of the once-dead land.

“If even our old man was able to find the right people, I think you’ll be alright kid.”

* * *

Zoro lounged on a deckchair aboard the Thousand Sunny, drifting in and out of sleep as the ship bobbed upon the swell. He could vaguely hear the excited shouts of Luffy and Usopp at play in the garden, with Nami scolding them as she tended to her beloved tangerine trees nearby. From inside the ship’s hold floated the muffled melodies of a violin, and Zoro imagined Robin sitting beside, eyes shut and swaying to the music. Suddenly, Zoro heard the loud honk of a delivery bird as it dropped an envelope on the ground next to him. Sitting up slowly and rubbing his eyes, Zoro ripped the envelope open and his good eye narrowed as it scanned the contents within.

 _Dear Zoro-nii,_ the letter read. _How have you been? It’s been a month since I departed Amazon Lily, but already it feels like a lifetime. Mother insisted on throwing a going-away party, even though Father and I told her not to make a fuss. All the crying and lamenting about how I’ve grown up? I should’ve just snuck out in the middle of the night._

_Anyways, I wanted to let you know that the outside is everything I thought it would be and more. I visited Dressrosa like you suggested, and I managed to catch a Tontatta! It had a little hat and talked in this high-pitched chirpy voice. It was so cute! I climbed up to the hill where you cut up the stone giant and it looks different now, covered in sunflowers that sway to and fro when the wind blows. There’s a little cottage there too among the sunflower fields. They say a swordsman and his princess used to live there. Isn’t that romantic? Reminded me of Father and Mother, although Father would probably say I’ve been reading too many romance novels._

_I’ve set our next course for the island of Zou; I can’t wait to see the elephant! If you’re in the area, we should totally catch up! I can’t wait to show you my new ship and the katana Father gave me before I left. It’s made of real Wano steel and everything. The best in the world, compliments of your old friend Hitetsu-san._

_My crew is calling me to the front now, so I really should get going. But before that, I’ve enclosed a little something I think you’ll like._

_P.S. I really like my pose in the photo. Whoever got the shot should get a raise. Father says it’s essential to get it right the first time, otherwise you’ll end up like Sanji-nii and Chopper-nii._

A second sheet of paper fluttered out from behind Iris’s letter and Zoro lifted it to the light. A photograph of the girl dominated the page, her dark hair flying behind her as she leapt into the fray. Red eyes, deep like fine wine, deadly as a striking viper, peeked out from under her bangs and her mouth curled upwards in a smirk. A lovely flower blooming in the midst of carnage. Underneath the photograph, large bold letters announced her arrival on the world stage. 

Wanted; Dead or Alive: Dracule Iris

Bounty: 120,000,000 berries.

Zoro’s fingers tightened momentarily on the paper even as a wide grin split his face from ear to ear.

“Not bad kid,” he mused, heading downstairs, bounty poster in hand, to where his crew stood waiting.

“Just as I thought, you’ve done alright.”


	3. The Sniper

The sun shone high in the sky above Amazon Lily, its burning rays scorching the exposed skin of a group of young Amazons as they thundered across the finish line. The air filled with the sound of whooping, cheering and high-fives, the girls eagerly comparing their scores and gossiping excitedly as their instructors dismissed them for the day. Yet one girl, a scrawny, pale individual with straw coloured hair, lagged far behind her peers, huffing and wheezing as she struggled to complete the course. As Willow neared the finish line, she lowered her eyes so she would not have to meet the disdainful stares of her peers, their taunting and laughter ringing as she came in dead last, as always.

“Slowpoke!”

“Weakling!”

“What a joke! She’ll never be a Kuja Pirate!”

Willow gritted her teeth and forced back her tears as she trudged away. As she passed Instructor Kikyo, the older woman said nothing, only shook her head in silent disappointment.

“I’m sorry, I really am.” Willow apologised to her. “I tried so hard but I just run out of breath too quickly and I- “

Kikyo held up her hand, cutting Willow off. “I know,” she sighed. “But it doesn’t matter. You need to keep training. You’ll be an outcast forever if you don’t catch up.”

Willow nodded, biting her lip and hoping her tears wouldn’t start to fall.

“Can I go now?” she choked out, before scurrying away into the jungle.

It just wasn’t fair.

* * *

Willow sat beneath a tall tree with sprawling roots. Her favourite. When she was younger, she’d loved climbing into its gnarled branches, finding a sweet spot to snack on stolen bananas and observe Amazon Lily’s vibrant wildlife. Atop the majestic tree, she could see everything. Nothing could touch her. She was free.

Yet now, at the tender age of twelve, there was no escaping her fate as a Kuja. The Amazons were a fiercely martial nation; a woman’s worth was determined not by her riches or physical beauty, but by her prowess in battle. Only the strongest among them could attain a coveted spot on board the Kuja Pirates, and the privilege of sailing the high seas alongside their beloved empress. It was every girl’s dream to be a Kuja Pirate, to return triumphant with tales of plunder and battle. But Willow didn’t care for battles, or for piracy. She wanted to see the world.

“Everyone here’s the same,” she complained to her companion, her pet snake Sora. “All they care about is fighting this, strength that. Nobody wants to learn anything new, nobody wants to adventure. It’s not fair that I’ll never be able to leave,” she finished miserably.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” a deep voice drawled from above her, nearly causing Willow to jump out of her skin.

“Wh-who said that?” she asked, her face flushing with shock and embarrassment.

“Look up.” The voice said, and Willow glanced upwards to see the former World’s Greatest Swordsman, his eyes shaded by the brim of his wide hat, seated on one of the branches above.

“M-Mihawk-sama,” she bowed deeply. “I didn’t notice you were here.”

“Of course you didn’t.” Mihawk replied coolly.

His sarcastic tone of voice bit deep, and Willow felt her embarrassment turning to rage. “Did you come here just to laugh at me?” Willow inquired bitterly. As the strongest person on the island, her custom demanded that she show the man deference, but she was too upset to care. “Because there’s nothing you can say that I haven’t already heard.”

Mihawk merely quirked a brow in amusement. “Not particularly.” He said. “I merely couldn’t help but to hear your lamentations about your strength.”

Willow turned away. “You wouldn’t understand.” She muttered. “You’re strong. You’ve always been strong.”

“There are many kinds of strengths.” Mihawk responded, causing Willow to turn back around.

“What do you mean?”

“There is a saying in the blue seas; I believe it states that if you attempt to teach a fish to climb trees, it will spend its entire life thinking itself worthless.”

“What does that mean?” Willow frowned, confused.

“It means,” said Mihawk, turning to leave, “That the definition of insanity is to attempt the same thing over again in vain.”

And then he was gone.

* * *

The next day, Willow was wandering aimlessly, thoughts drifting back to the swordsman’s cryptic words. What could he possibly have meant? There were fish that could climb trees, Willow thought. They were called mudskippers. She’d read about them in a magazine brought back and discarded by a Kuja warrior some years back. But somehow, she felt she was missing the point. Suddenly, Sora hissed a warning and Willow snapped back to reality a split second before colliding with another, larger girl and falling flat on her rear.

“Well, well, well,” sneered the other girl. “Who do we have here?”

 _Coral_ , Willow thought unhappily. Physically the largest of her generation, Coral was as belligerent as she was muscular, only too happy to extort food and resources from the smaller, weaker girls. 

“S-sorry,” Willow climbed unsteadily to her feet. “I’ll be going now.”

A pair of large hands whipped forward, shoving her back to the ground. “Not so fast,” Coral grinned. “When you bumped into me, I dropped my rations. You’re going to give me yours as compensation for the next week, aren’t you?”

The girls surrounding Coral giggled at Willow’s plight. The smaller girl clenched her fists and bit her lip again. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

 _If only I was stronger_ , she thought through a haze of angry tears. _But I can’t protect anyone, not even myself._

“No?” Coral asked mockingly and stepped forward, cracking her knuckles. “Hey girls,” she called, “Maybe it’s time I teach this little weakling to know her place.”

Willow squared her skinny frame, bracing herself for impact. If she had to endure another beating, she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her beg. Coral raised a fist to strike her down, but stopped as a voice called out from behind her.

“Hmph. Pathetic.”

“What did you say!?” Coral whipped around, her brutish face contorted with rage. Atop a nearby wall sat Dracule Iris, casting an arrogant, dismissive gaze upon the bullies below.

She looked, in that moment, the spitting image of her father.

“You heard me.” Iris smirked. “What a pathetic lot you are, fighting only weak opponents. You’re all just scared that a real fighter is going to put _you_ in your place.”

“Don’t get cocky you prissy little bitch!” Coral lost her composure then, spittle flying from her mouth as she screamed. “Girls, get her!”

Willow barely had time to cry out a warning before three of Coral’s posse leapt at Iris, who was still seated on the wall. Yet their blows brushed only air as the dark-haired girl all but vanished before their eyes.

A yelp of pain sounded from behind them and two of the bullies collapsed sporting bruises on their knees and thighs. Iris landed gracefully, wielding a wooden training sword as she faced off against the four that remained.

“Last chance. Leave now, while you can,” Iris’s bright smile was at complete odds with the bloodlust dripping from every syllable, bloodlust so strong even Coral flinched. But she’d come too far to back down.

Coral rushed towards Iris with a battle cry, fists ready to pulverise the slim, dainty swordswoman. Yet Iris slipped backwards and out of her grasp, the training sword arced through the air and came smashing down on two of the bullies’ faces, knocking them out cold. The last remaining henchwoman came at Iris from behind, but she merely pivoted seamlessly on one foot, sending the other straight into the other girl’s face with a sickening crunch. Willow watched the scene unfold, spellbound; every movement Iris made seemed to play in slow motion, the taut muscles in her arms and thighs rippling as she spun and danced.

She was beyond beautiful.

As the bully dropped to her knees screaming in pain, Iris raised her scarlet eyes to Coral’s and smiled.

“Oh look,” she said sweetly. “All alone.”

Willow had never seen Coral sweat before, but the larger girl’s face was coated in a thin layer of sweat. Her knees were trembling, Willow realised, like a doe paralysed with fear.

Iris turned on her heel abruptly, flicking a stray lock of hair over her shoulder.

“I had fun,” she chirped. “Next time, let’s meet in the arena.”

Willow wasted no time in looking back and hurried after Iris’s retreating form.

* * *

Willow found Iris hiding in one of the back streets, watching sparrows play in a tiny fountain nearby.

“There you are,” she panted, her muscles straining from the exertion of following the young swordswoman.

“Oh, it’s you.” Iris seemed unperturbed by the intrusion. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to say thank you,” Willow answered, and then blushed.

 _Stupid_ , she told herself. _Could you be any more lame?_

Iris smiled gently, her low contralto soothing as she said, “It was my pleasure. I believe you met Father the other day. He said to keep an eye out for you.”

“M-Mihawk-sama did?” Willow couldn’t hide her shock at the fact.

Iris nodded. “I’ve been watching you too, for a while. I’ve seen them call you weak.”

“Well I _am_ weak.” Tears sprang to Willow’s eyes once more. “You saw what happened. I needed you to protect me.”

Iris remained silent, and Willow took that as her cue to continue.

“I appreciate you saving me,” she sniffed sadly, “But I don’t want to rely on other people forever. In fact, there’s nobody else here who’ll help me. You, your father, your mother, you’re all strong. You would never understand. Even if I tried, I could never leave here. I can never be free.”

Iris looked to the skies, watching the clouds drift lazily overhead. “Maybe you’re right,” she mused. “Maybe I don’t understand. But as my father said, there are many types of strength.”

“I was born like this. I’ve always been sickly,” Willow shook her head and wiped her nose on her sleeve. “Someone like me could never be a pirate.”

Iris giggled then, and Willow looked up at her in surprise.

“Ah, sorry.” Iris mused. “But you reminded me, just then, of a pirate I know. Usopp-nii is weak too, but he’s still a member of the Pirate King’s crew.”

“A weakling on the Pirate King’s crew? No way!” Willow gaped.

“Oh yes,” Iris chuckled fondly. “I beat Usopp-nii in an arm wrestle the last time he came by. He’s a sniper though, so it doesn’t really matter if he’s strong or not.”

“A sniper?” Willow wracked her brains, trying to remember. “Is that the person who sits in the Crow’s Nest all day?”

“It’s more important than that,” Iris playfully poked the shorter girl between the eyes. “Usopp-nii is the Pirate King’s eyes. He eliminates threats before they can even come close, and he protects the crew from afar.”

“B-but… if enemies come near him, the others have to protect him right?”

“That’s right,” Iris nodded sagely. “But that’s why pirates have a crew. Everyone plays a different role, but they all protect each other.”

 _Protect each other…_ Willow’s hands balled into fists where they rested in her lap. Winding herself around Willow’s neck, Sora hissed reassuringly, and Willow knew then what Mihawk had meant. For the first time, Willow met Iris’s gaze confidently, facing her head on.

“I’m going to become a sniper.” Willow declared. “And when I do, you have to take me on board your crew, because I’ll be the best there is.”

Iris looked surprised for a moment, but then her face relaxed into a smile. “Well said.” Iris replied and rose to leave.

“I’ll be looking forward to the day we can both be free.”

* * *

The Pirate Empress’s face was drawn with silent worry, her hands busying themselves as she wrapped a scarf gently around her daughter’s neck. Iris stood patiently at the end of the gangway, her ship bobbing gently behind her, ready to take the young princess to open waters.

“You have to wear this when it’s cold,” Hancock instructed her. “Or else you’ll catch a chill.”  
“I know, mom.” Iris smiled sadly and Hancock choked back a sob. Beside her, Mihawk exchanged a long gaze with Iris. Smiling tearfully, she stepped forward and pulled him into a long embrace, the older man murmuring gentle reassurances into her long dark hair. When she released him, Mihawk turned then to the young woman standing behind him, her bow and quiver slung across her back and her pet snake coiled comfortably around her neck.

“You made it here.” He said simply, and Willow nodded.

“I never did thank you,” she replied, “for the advice you gave me back then.”

“Thank me by doing your duty well.” Mihawk strode away. “And bring Iris safely back to me.”

Willow turned to her captain, silhouetted against the red and gold of dawn. Her crimson eyes shone with excitement and she held out her hand, the promise of a new adventure, a new life, lying within her delicate palm.

Willow stepped onto the gangplank and boarded the ship. Even as Amazon Lily disappeared beyond the horizon, she didn’t look back. Iris looked back over her shoulder and grinned at her from the ship’s prow, and Willow’s heart clenched in a silent vow.

She would be the shadow to her captain’s light. Wherever Iris went, she would surely follow. The skies lit up, blazing with all the colours of the dawn, bathing the swordswoman in light.

Willow had seen many a sunrise over Amazon Lily. She’d read books with pictures of frozen fires and sprawling fields of flowers.

But the scene before her was the loveliest sight of all.


	4. What We've Made

Carved into the majestic cliffs towering over the city, the balcony of Amazon Lily’s palace offered unparalleled views of the mountains, the lush tropical jungle, the hubbub of excitement and activity as the villagers hurried about their day. Hancock rested her elbows on the balustrade and savoured the view, the familiar sights and sounds of Kuja women tanning animal pelts, weaving baskets and peddling handmade wares. Home. Though she’d sailed the Grand Line as part of her duties as warlord, Amazon Lily remained the haven to which Hancock always returned. The seas here were calm, mirroring the city of Amazons. Their warrior ways had endured even before the Void Century, before kings and queens and Reveries, and under her they would endure still.

The sound of shuffling footsteps behind her drew Hancock’s attention then, and she turned around to see her young daughter stroll into the room, her wooden training sword slung over one shoulder.

“Mother,” she greeted Hancock with a smile.

“Iris.” Hancock reached out and stroked her daughter’s hair. Long and silky, like her own, framing a similarly pale, heart-shaped face with a broad forehead. The scarlet eyes staring into hers, irises ringed like the depths of dark whirlpools, however, belonged to Iris’s father. Hancock spared a thought to her former colleague-turned-husband, lazing around somewhere in the jungle most likely. _Reclusive old bat_ , she thought, and smiled wryly. Over a decade they’d spent together as a family, yet Mihawk still tended to shirk the company of Amazons and regarded their ways with bemusement, traits his daughter had inherited much to Hancock’s dismay.

“I heard you got in a fight today,” Hancock mentioned casually as Iris placed the sword carefully in a corner of the room. “It was the talk of the town.”

“Wasn’t much of a fight.” Iris shrugged. “More like a massacre.”

Hancock repressed a smile at the girl’s bravado. Though those eyes were Iris’s father’s, that arrogance, the proud tilt of her chin, as though she’d look down upon fate itself – that unyielding, unbreakable spirit was hers.

“Why did you fight though?” Hancock probed. “It isn’t like you to concern yourself with the affairs of our tribe.”

Iris paused. “They were bullying someone. One of the weak girls,” she explained. “I merely reminded them of their place.”

Hancock frowned. “You shouldn’t interfere in the affairs of others, Iris,” she chided. “Especially when it pertains to asserting one’s strength. The strong thrive, the weak do not survive. That is our way.”

“Well it’s stupid.” Iris retorted and Hancock pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Our tribe has only survived this long because we force our girls to be strong,” Hancock replied, her patience strained. “Without strength, it is impossible to survive in this world.”

“And what world is that?” Iris inquired sharply. “Most Kuja live their entire lives on the island. They are born here. They die here. They know nothing of the real world. They just rest on their laurels, like the frogs they are.”

Hancock bit her lip in annoyance. She was clearly unused to being spoken to without the mindless subservience her subordinates offered. “You are Kuja,” she snapped back. “whether you like it or not. These are our ways, and our ways have remained so for centuries.”

Iris just shook her head in exasperation. The subject was a sore spot for both. 

“It’s what Luffy-nii would do,” Iris muttered, turning away from her mother. As the girl stalked out through the doorway, Hancock slumped into an armchair and pressed her hand to her head.

 _She’s right you know_ , a little voice whispered insidiously. It was what Luffy would have done. Luffy, with all his boundless optimism and eternal kindness, would never have allowed the bullies to go unpunished.

And that, she mused, made him infinitely better than she was.

It had never crossed Hancock’s mind, the idea of being good, doing good, being kind for the sake of being kind. All her life, she’d been treated as a commodity; men and women alike fell breathless at her feet, but their praises were hollow, their gazes leering. She’d learned that relationships were transactional, learned to bend the wills of men to do her bidding. She’d learned that the world coveted her body and her soul, and her heart had frosted over with each lustful stare. 

That is, until _he_ came along.

Hancock shook her head forcefully, purging her racing thoughts from her mind. Rising to her feet in a single elegant movement, she strode away from the balcony, from the memories threating to spill over.

Sometimes it was best to let sleeping dogs lie.

* * *

Dinner that night was an awkward affair. Mother and daughter said little to each other, their eyes fixed resolutely on their plates and abstaining from conversation. Out of the corner of her eye, Hancock scanned her husband’s face, searching for a reaction to the weighty silence, but his expression remained unreadable. Finally, perhaps due to sensing her discomfort, he became the first to speak.

“Iris,” he said flatly, reaching for the glass of wine beside him. “Did you do any training today?”

Iris picked at the leftovers on her plate. “Sorta,” she mumbled. “I kinda… got into a fight.”

Mihawk smirked. “I suppose that’ll do,” he mused, “Good preparation for what’s to come.”

Hancock turned to her husband, arching a brow questioningly. “What do you mean by that?”

Mihawk didn’t reply but looked at Iris expectantly. Sensing she’d been caught out, Iris chewed her bottom lip and let out a sigh.

“I uh..” she hesitated. “I’m going to Reverie next week. Vivi-nee invited me to come as one of her bodyguards. It should be fine, Coby-san is going to be working security and-”

 _Reverie_.

The word made Hancock’s stomach twist, memories of cold marble floors and austere grey walls flooded her mind. The former home of the Celestial Dragons, a bastion of luxury shimmering above, mocking the common folk languishing beneath the Red Line. Memories of greedy, grasping hands, of cruel laughter and a brand that _seared_ itself into her back and into her soul. Reverie, a farcical, self-important gathering of nobles, nobles that had been only too happy to sit by as the Celestial Dragons trampled her pride. Damn them. And damn the navy too.

“Why would you do that?” Hancock couldn’t stop herself from lashing out. “Why would you go and why wouldn’t you tell me?”  
“Because I knew you’d react like this!” Iris threw her hands in the air. “You always make such a big deal of when I go to the outside, Mother. How are you going to cope once I set out to sea for good?”

“That’s not the point!” Hancock exclaimed. “You’re not going. I forbid it! You’ve learned quite enough nonsense from the outside already.”

“Oh I see how this is,” Iris folded her arms defiantly, eyes blazing with anger. “You don’t like it when I question the oh-so sacred ways of the Kuja. You don’t want me learning about the outside because it disrupts your little fantasy about how everything is _so_ perfect here!”

That stung. Hancock resisted her urge to recoil and summoned every ounce of motherly authority within her.

“How dare you!” she cried. “You reject your heritage in favour of worldly frivolities. Mercy. Kindness. Diplomacy. You are a fool to think that the real world cares a jot for your lofty ideals.”

“Well if that’s the case, then I’d rather be a fool!” Iris retorted. “The strong should protect the weak. The world has changed Mother, and you’re afraid that in the process, it’s left you obsolete!”

Iris didn’t wait to hear her mother’s response. Pushing aside her chair, she sprinted out of the dining hall and disappeared into the depths of the palace. Hancock slumped back into her seat, defeated, and buried her face in both hands.

Mihawk silently padded over to her side and she felt his large, calloused hands start to gently massage both shoulders. Hancock felt the tension bleed from her body and she relaxed backwards into his warmth. Mihawk was always warm, she thought, his presence steadfast and reassuring. After a short while, she heard him murmur calmly,

“She has to find her own way,” his low baritone drummed against her ear. “Things are different for her. Sometimes that necessitates a different perspective.”

Hancock reached up to clasp his hands, stilling them where they tangled in her long black hair.

“I know,” she sighed. “I just… remembered some things. Things I thought I could forget.”

Mihawk laced his fingers into hers. “Sometimes,” he mused, “The key is not to forget. The key is finding a way to keep living with yourself. To make something out of suffering.”

“What’s there to make?” Hancock asked bitterly.

“Well…” Mihawk leaned down to kiss his wife on the cheek. “We made her.”

Hancock laughed despite herself. “You’re so full of it,” she joked, but the swordsman’s words had her mind wandering again. She and Mihawk were the same, two jaded souls atop a pair of lonely thrones. In the wake of the Pirate King’s meteoric rise they’d drifted together, bonding over their shared experiences as government warlords and relics of the Great Age of Piracy. Mihawk’s legacy overshadowed by his pupil, the legendary Second Ryuma, Hancock’s desired place in Luffy’s heart usurped by his fiery red-haired crewmate. He knew what it was like to lose, to take second place for the first time in forever.

Rising from her seat, Hancock wound both arms around Mihawk’s neck, burying her face in his shoulder and inhaling his scent. So strange, she thought idly, to have found refuge in Mihawk’s shadow, rather than Luffy’s light.

“I worry about her,” Hancock admitted, her voice muffled by the thin fabric of his shirt. “I worry that she’ll be disappointed when the world isn’t what she expects it to be. She takes after you, after all.”

Mihawk’s hand ran the length of her shoulder blade, a comforting gesture he’d made so many times before. “So do I,” he murmured, “but there’s no sense in coddling her. She’s your daughter after all,” he said, drawing back and meeting Hancock’s blue-grey eyes.

“She is strong. You both are.”

Hancock huffed, her cheeks dusting a slight pink. “Maybe that’s why we fight.”

Mihawk’s hand shifted then to the brand on Hancock’s back. She no longer flinched when he brushed against it, but felt her shoulders involuntarily tense until the weight of his palm covered it whole.

“She wants things to be better,” Mihawk told her gently. “And so do I.”

“Change is painful.”

“Maybe for a while,” Hancock glanced up to meet Mihawk’s gaze, dark with quiet affection. “But aren’t you glad things changed for us when they did?”

Hancock said nothing, but rested her head against his chest. His heartbeat was a steady drum in her ears, the rhythm of his breath speaking a language of comfort and familiarity.

He sounded like home.

“Autumn is the most beautiful season in Wano,” he continued. “It is the season of change, when the leaves turn from verdant green to a sea of gold and flame. One day, let us go there, you and I.”

Hancock drew back slightly and locked eyes with his, the meaning of his words slowly dawning upon her. Mihawk smiled then, and his hand drifted down the length of her arm to clasp her hand, tugging her out of the dining hall and into the corridors.

“Trust in her. The world she’ll make will be better than the one we’ve known.”

* * *

It was rare for Hancock to awaken before Mihawk, but she’d risen even before the first rays of dawn. Sitting on the bed beside his sleeping form, Hancock ran slim fingers through his unruly dark hair. His eyes were closed, which in itself was rare to see, and he looked younger, his usual stern expression replaced by one of restfulness and peace. How far they’d come, she thought, from enemies, to lovers, then partners in life. She thought of how he infuriated her, how he challenged her, how his very presence on the island was a violation of one of the Kuja’s oldest laws. Yet for the life of her, she couldn’t bring herself to regret anything about choosing him.

“I’m going out for a bit,” she told him, then rose to her feet, gathering her confidence and resolve.

She knew what she had to do.

Iris awoke to the sound of gentle rapping on her bedroom door. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she stumbled out of bed and opened the door to reveal her mother, arms laden with books and old newspapers, and she blinked in surprise.

“Mother?” she asked, but Hancock simply brushed past her. Laying the books on Iris’s bed, Hancock began rummaging through her daughter’s wardrobe, examining and discarding various dresses gifted to her by Perona, Nami and Robin.

“Garish, out of season, inappropriate… aha!” Hancock triumphantly removed a dark blue, sleeveless dress with a high collar and a slit in the skirt to allow for ease of movement. Holding it up in front of her daughter, she waited patiently for Iris’s seal of approval.

“Mother, what are you doing?” Iris looked at her, bewildered.

Hancock smirked. “No child of mine is going to represent Amazon Lily at the Reverie while ignorant and unfashionably dressed. Before you leave, you must study these tomes. They will inform you about the other member-states and the news clippings are from Reveries in previous years. These should ensure you do not make a fool of yourself.”

“Mother…” Iris’s eyes widened as the truth dawned on her at last.

Hancock lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry,” she said, after a long pause. “You will have your own way of being empress, as I have mine.”

Iris threw her slender arms around Hancock, hugging her tightly in response. Pulling away from her daughter’s embrace, Hancock winked at the young girl.

“Besides, when you’re gone, I think your father and I are going to go on a trip, just the two of us.”

“Where to?”

“Hmm…” Hancock tapped her bottom lip, feeling, for the first time in a while, a surge of anticipation, a thirst for a new adventure.

“I’ve heard Wano in autumn is nice.”


End file.
